


a cathedral of deadbolts

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Anyway this fic is basically just my PSA about how stress can affect your health, Hello it's me back at it again with the Nureyev whump, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Sick fic-ish, Stress, Whump, With bonus Juno being a loving amazing gf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Nerves before a big heist are normal, but Nureyev’s never felt this achy and uneasy for so long of a time. It’s only to be expected, he supposes: everything is closing in on him now. Of course it hangs heavy on his shoulders. He anticipated the mental turmoil, but what he didn’t anticipate is…whatever the hell he’s feeling now.It has to be unrelated, doesn’t it?
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 138





	a cathedral of deadbolts

**Author's Note:**

> Look I know no one ASKED for another 8k of Nureyev being sad, but it's all I ever feel like writing, so you're getting it anyway.
> 
> Title is from the poem “letter from my brain to my heart” by Rachel McKibbens:
> 
> "You have my permission  
> not to love me. I am  
> a cathedral of dead bolts  
> & I’d rather  
> burn myself down  
> than change the locks."
> 
> CWs:   
> \- Sleep deprivation/severe stress  
> \- Vomiting/nausea   
> \- Unintentional weight loss, trouble with/discussion of eating, reference to eating disorders (what is depicted here is not actually disordered eating, it is loss of appetite/weight loss from stress, but disordered eating is briefly alluded to)  
> \- Non-explicit sex 

Nureyev is no stranger to long nights, and he certainly is no stranger to nerves.

This, though, is something different.

Nerves before a big heist are normal, but he’s never felt this achy and uneasy for so long of a time. It’s only to be expected, he supposes: everything is closing in on him now. Of course it hangs heavy on his shoulders. He anticipated the mental turmoil, but what he didn’t anticipate is…whatever the hell he’s feeling now.

It has to be unrelated, doesn’t it?

Just when he manages to fall asleep for the first time in at least two days, finally feeling safe enough to do so in the comfort of Juno’s bed, he finds himself jolted awake to the feeling of his stomach in knots and his head searing with pain. He sits up with a weak moan, massaging his temples.

Juno shifts beside him, and he considers waking him. The lady looks so peaceful in his rest that Nureyev can’t bring himself to do it, however. Whatever this feeling is, it will likely pass soon anyway, he reassures himself.

It doesn’t pass.

He can’t even remember the last time he’s eaten, but from the state of his stomach he can only assume he must have ingested something untoward. He stumbles out of bed and to the bathroom, shivering in the cold recycled air.

He haunts the toilet for what must be almost an hour, but all he manages to hack up is bile, which burns coming up his throat and makes him feel even worse. Why does he feel so nauseous when there isn’t even anything to throw up? He doesn’t enjoy being ill, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy vomiting, but at least with it there usually comes some relief- some repellence of toxins from the body and assurance that he’ll feel better soon. That the illness will pass.

This isn’t passing.

The aching in his head and the queasiness in his stomach refuse to go away, and in the end he slinks back to bed with the thought that if he is going to feel awful, he’d at least rather feel awful next to the lady he loves.

A week after the queasiness makes its first appearance, Nureyev’s jaw starts to hurt. He massages it, feeling annoyed and miserable. He really is getting old. It’s like his entire body has decided to give up on him within the span of a month, and he has no idea why.

As he does with most unpleasant feelings, he tries to ignore it. It isn’t bad enough to warrant bothering Vespa, who clearly dislikes him enough as it is. He can deal with this.

It’s easy enough to just forget about it, anyway, especially when he has a distraction- and Juno Steel always serves as a magnificent distraction.

He’s deep in a kiss one night, all aches and pains forgotten in favor of the feeling of Juno’s lips on his and hand on his thigh, when Juno suddenly pulls away.

“Babe…”

“Yes?” Nureyev says, feeling slightly lightheaded from the giddiness of the kiss followed by its sudden loss. At least, he assumes that’s why he’s feeling lightheaded.

“What happened to your teeth?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Juno reaches out and lifts Nureyev’s lip to study his canines, which could have been hot if he hadn’t done it with the same clinical air of a veterinarian checking the cleanliness of a cat’s mouth. “I know I’ve complained about you accidentally drawing blood when you give me hickies before, Nureyev, but I didn’t actually mean it. I think it’s hot how sharp your teeth are. You didn’t have to file them down.”

“I didn’t…” Nureyev trails off and pulls away, feeling his canines. Juno isn’t wrong.

They’re blunt.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Wait, did you not notice?”

Suddenly his aching jaw makes a lot more sense. “I…must have been grinding them in my sleep. I didn’t even realize…”

Juno’s eyebrows are drawn together in concern. “Fuck, Nureyev, you’d have to grind them a lot for them to get that blunt.”

“I- I can fix them,” Nureyev says, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He’s regretted the teeth many times over the years, dismissing them as a whim of his teenage self, but after meeting Juno…Well, it’s a lot harder to dislike the teeth when his dear detective has such an affinity for them. “It’d be a simple procedure.”

“More importantly, you should go to Vespa and ask her about ways to keep from grinding them.”

“Mm. Yes. Of course,” Nureyev says, though he has no plans to do so.

Juno presses a kiss to his cheek. “Look after yourself, babe.”

“As you wish,” he replies, though he’s struck with a strange desire to say ‘sorry’ instead. He wants to apologize to Juno for inadvertently taking away something he knows Juno likes so much in some fit of… _what?_ Why in the galaxy is he suddenly grinding his teeth now, when he’s never done it before?

He can’t think of an answer, so he files away the question and sets about getting an appointment for replacements as quickly as possible.

Were the lights on the Carte Blanche always so bright?

They feel brighter than usual lately, and it’s doing a number on Nureyev’s eyes.

“That’s quite the fashion statement, Pete. Or did someone have a bit too much fun last night?”

Nureyev gives Buddy a glare over the pink-tinted prescription sunglasses. They don’t exactly match his outfit, but they were the best he could dig up on short notice. Thankfully, the crew is used to his rather avant-garde choices of dress, so sunglasses inside aren’t much of a departure. Rita complimented him completely earnestly, and Vespa made some snide comment about ‘literal rose-colored glasses’. Jet, in typical Jet fashion, made no remark at all.

Juno is the only one who seems genuinely put off by the choice. “Any reason you’re wearing sunglasses inside, Ransom?”

“If I recall correctly, I was wearing sunglasses inside when we first met, love.”

Juno crosses his arms. “Well, yeah, but that was different. That was Glass.”

“Perhaps I felt like today was a sunglasses kind of day.”

“…Whatever you say.”

In addition to brightening the lights, he swears someone has turned the temperature down in the ship as well. Nureyev has never had good circulation, but now even when he’s curled up on the couch in a much less revealing outfit than his usual, he finds himself shaking from cold. He tries to ignore it and focus on the task at hand, which is research for his next role.

Even the screen of his comms seems too bright right now, though, and looking at it is giving him a headache. He pushes his sunglasses up to his forehead so he can dig his knuckles into his eyes, rubbing them. It feels like every part of him is falling to pieces, but slowly and quietly enough that he can usually ignore it. He tries not to think too hard about what all these little things could be leading up to. That fear goes into the filing cabinet with all the others.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels something touch his shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa. It’s just me.”

He looks behind him and seen Juno, who has frozen in the act of draping his trench coat over Nureyev. Immediately he relaxes, cheeks reddening slightly.

“Sorry. I was…distracted.”

“Apparently,” Juno says. “…You were shivering really badly, baby. I thought the coat might help a little. Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course,” Nureyev replies. “This outfit must just be made of thinner material than I realized. Thank you, love.”

“Tell me if you need anything,” Juno says. He presses a kiss to Nureyev’s temple and then walks away, likely to go back to work on his own heist preparations.

Nureyev pulls the coat tighter around him. It doesn’t do much to keep the strange cold away, but it does smell like Juno, which is as good a comfort as any. He gets back to work, forcing himself to ignore the chill in his bones and the ache in his eyes.

“You plan on actually eating that, or just playing with it?”

Nureyev stills his fork, which he’s been using to make cross patterns in his mashed potatoes, and glowers at Juno. “You are not my parent, Juno.”

“It’s just…you should eat, all right?” Juno says. “I thought my mashed potatoes were safe.”

_Safe._

Nureyev has always had issues with food; certain flavors or textures that make him feel ill. It’s something he’s always disliked about himself. As a child on the streets, he couldn’t afford to be picky. As a master thief travelling the stars, he wants to sample cuisine from all places. As it is, though, he just…doesn’t particularly enjoy eating.

Especially not lately. He doesn’t even remember the last time he actually felt hungry.

How nauseous he’s been feeling lately isn’t exactly helping, either. It’s hard to be interested in eating anything when he knows it’ll likely as not come back up later.

“Your mashed potatoes are perfect,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m simply not hungry, is all. I ate in my room.”

It’s a reasonable explanation- he does have a stash of food in his room, usually fairly bland, sealed, nutrient-rich food. Food that lasts a long time and doesn’t take up much space in a suitcase. It’s force of habit more than anything else, but he does occasionally find himself snacking on it when he’s up late researching for an upcoming heist. He hasn’t eaten any of it today, no, but…he _could_ have.

Juno doesn’t seem to be particularly convinced, but he doesn’t argue, either. Nureyev is all too familiar with his expression: it’s his ‘ _I don’t believe you, but I’m going to let it go until you’re ready to talk about it’_ face.

Nureyev both hates and appreciates that look.

One of the most frustrating things about dating a detective is that it is incredibly difficult to hide anything from him. At the very least, though, Juno has come to recognize how uncomfortable being deduced makes Nureyev and seems to avoid intentionally reading into his actions or words if he can help it. He can’t always help it, of course, and on occasions like those he often chooses to hold off commenting until he’s certain Nureyev won’t address whatever’s bothering him without an extra push.

Nureyev appreciates Juno’s dedication to his privacy, but there is a part of him that wishes he just wasn’t able to deduce anything at all.

What can he tell Juno if he decides to ask, anyway? He just isn’t hungry. It’s the truth. As far as he knows, there’s nothing more to it than that.

Thankfully the topic doesn’t come up again until about a week later, when Juno is helping him into his shirt. Usually the lady is helping him do the reverse, but the clasps on this particular article are on the back, and even with Nureyev’s flexibility it’s difficult to do it up properly without a helping hand.

“How did you even get into this when you were by yourself?” Juno asks indignantly as he fights with it. “And why do all of your clothes have to be _skin tight?”_

“I managed,” Nureyev says airily. “And why, Juno, do you have a problem with my clothing? I was under the impression that you quite liked how well my attire fits me-”

“Shut up,” Juno says, and Nureyev doesn’t have to glance back at him to know how flustered he currently looks. “There, all done.”

“Thank you, my love.” Nureyev stretches and smiles, turning to face him. To his surprise, Juno’s expression has already changed from flustered to…something else. It’s another expression he recognizes: the one that Juno wears when he’s mid-deduction, and he doesn’t like what he’s deducing. “…Love?”

“I had to help you with this same shirt a couple months ago, right? You wore it to that ball on Pluto.”

Nureyev scoffs. “Am I not allowed to reuse one part of an outfit two months apart?”

“No, I’m not…I don’t care about that, obviously.” Juno now looks concerned, which is somehow even worse, not least because Nureyev has no idea why. “Last time I helped you into it, I had to do up the clasps to here for it to be tight enough.” He runs a finger along the location on Nureyev’s back. “This time I had to pull them in all the way.”

Nureyev lets out a breath. “Forgive me, love, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at. If you’d like to play detective, I suggest you wait until we leave for the mission-”

“You’ve lost weight. Like, a lot of weight. In a really short period of time. I thought I was imagining it, but…you definitely have.”

Nureyev hesitates, then says breezily, “Have I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“…I don’t know whether that’s true, and I don’t know that it’s particularly reassuring if it is,” Juno says. “Babe, you’re already so thin.”

There’s a burning worry in his voice, a searching look as he meets Nureyev’s gaze, and Nureyev suddenly realizes what he must be thinking. “I…I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Nureyev, now isn’t the time to-”

“I didn’t!” he insists. “I will not deny having a…complicated relationship with food, for a multitude of reasons, but this isn’t that. I just haven’t been hungry.” The vomiting certainly doesn’t help, either, but he decides not to bring that up. He’s trying to reassure Juno, not make him more worried.

“You just haven’t been hungry,” Juno repeats.

“It’s true. I don’t know why.”

“Are you sick?”

“I…I don’t _feel_ sick,” Nureyev says, which is mostly true. Outside of the nausea, he feels no different than usual. A little more achy and a little more tired, perhaps- but as far as he’s aware, ‘tired’ is a common symptom of only sleeping a couple of hours a night.

“Well, something has to change,” Juno says. “I can’t just stand by and watch you…waste away before my eyes. I’m sure Vespa has something she could give you-”

Nureyev feels annoyance rise in his chest, unbidden. He doesn’t _want_ to speak to Vespa, and he’s tired of being told to at every turn. He just wants the conversation to be over, though, so he says, “I’ll look into it. If you’re quite finished critiquing my appearance, Juno, we do also have a heist to be getting to.”

“What!? Nureyev, you know that’s not what I was doing. This isn’t about how you look, this is about you not fucking dying of malnutrition-”

He clenches his teeth. “Yes, I…I know. I’m sorry. Thank you for your…concern.”

It’s something he’s unused to: concern. It’s been decades since he’s even been around a person long enough for them to notice any changes in his body, let alone since he’s been around someone who _cared_ enough to. He knows it should be a reassuring thought, proof that he’s loved, but right now it just feels too raw. He can barely stand to talk about these things with himself in the confines of his own mind, let alone with anybody else.

“I’ll try,” he says finally. “I promise, I’ll try to eat more.”

Juno looks relieved and pulls him down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good. Thanks, Nureyev.”

 _What a silly thing to thank someone for,_ he thinks. He still finds himself smiling, though. If this- a thank you and a fond look from Juno Steel- is the reward for allowing himself to be stripped bare, perhaps it isn’t so mortifying after all.

“You really don’t have to-”

“Babe, we’ve been through this. You do me, I’m gonna do you.”

“…Well, in that case I certainly won’t stop you.”

Nureyev lies back on the bed, closing his eyes as Juno pulls down his briefs. He’s still getting used to this- this equivalent exchange, give and take, where his pleasure supposedly matters as much as Juno’s. Whenever he was with marks, his own feelings never came into play once. As long as they walked away satisfied and he walked away with whatever object or information he’d come for, it didn’t actually matter whether _he_ finished.

A part of him feels undeserving of the feeling that Juno is alighting through his body, of the pressing heat between his legs. He feels dizzy, almost lightheaded, as that feeling rushes through him. He throws his head back and clenches the sheets, stars erupting in front of his vision even before he’s reached the peak-

“Red, babe. _Red.”_

Nureyev’s eyes fly open, and it’s a moment before he’s come back to himself enough to process that Juno’s head is no longer between his legs and that he’s signaling for them to stop. He sits up so quickly he nearly falls over and then reaches for Juno.

“My love?! Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Juno stares at him. “Nureyev, I tried to ask if you were ready for my fingers, but you didn’t answer. Then I said your name three times and you still didn’t respond.”

“O-oh.” Nureyev doesn’t remember any of that. “I suppose your tongue is too powerful of an instrument for its own good-”

“Babe, I’m serious. I’ve never seen that happen before. It was like…you were somewhere else. You scared me.”

“Hm. Fear is certainly not the desired emotion, in situations like these. I assure you that I am perfectly all right; I was simply…caught up in the moment. Now, what was that about fingers?”

“No.”

Nureyev blinks. “What?”

“No,” Juno says again. “I’m sorry, honey, but we’re done for tonight. You know I always want you to be satisfied too, but it doesn’t seem like you’re up for it right now. You should get some sleep. Here, I’ll go get cleaned up, then you can use the bathroom and we can just…chill. Cuddle, or talk or whatever. Sound good?”

“Oh. Um, yes.”

Nureyev sits on his knees and watches Juno leave for the bathroom. He knows Juno is looking out for him, but he still has to forcibly stamp down the part of him that whispers, _That didn’t happen. He’s just making up an excuse because he doesn’t want you._

It’s not true, of course. He’s just been feeling somewhat…fragile in this area lately. He tugs at the loose shirt he’s wearing _,_ recalling how just ten minutes ago he’d stilled Juno’s hand when the lady tried to pull it off him so he wouldn’t have to see his too-skinny form underneath. He remembers how Juno had smiled at him before they’d fallen into bed together, and how the smile Nureyev gave him in return was close-lipped, hiding the dulled canines that he still hasn’t found the time to replace yet.

Of course, the more likely alternative- that it isn’t an excuse, and Juno really did speak to him four different times without him so much as registering that he was being spoken to- is even more alarming.

What is happening to him?

_What’s wrong with him?_

It’s terrifying, the lack of control. He knows that Juno’s repeated assertions that he should go to Vespa are founded, but he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it, and he knows why now: if there’s something wrong, something seriously, _fatally_ wrong…isn’t he better off not knowing? Isn’t he better off just pretending it’s not there for as long as possible, so he can wring some last vestige of enjoyment out of his pathetic life?

It’s getting harder and harder to pretend, though, and even as he does nothing but sit on the bed he feels himself start to sway slightly, his vision blurring.

“Nureyev?”

He blinks and Juno appears in front of him, wrapped in a towel and still dripping from the shower. “Hello, love.”

“…You went away again.”

He straightens up. “Well, it seems I’ve returned, thankfully. You’re finished in the bathroom? Then I’ll take my turn now.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? In the shower, I mean. I can help.”

“Help me take a shower?” Nureyev raises his eyebrows. “Why, Juno, I though you said we were finished for the night-”

Juno lets out a huff of frustration. “Stop it, Nureyev.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop deflecting. Do I need to worry about you spontaneously keeling over in the shower or not?”

“I assure you that I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own, dear detective. That, at least, is one faculty that has not yet vacated me.”

If he stumbles slightly on his way to the bathroom, then…Well, if it happens when Juno’s back is turned, does it really happen at all?

When Juno’s turn to cook lunch comes around again, Nureyev makes a show of eating everything he’s given. He still isn’t hungry, but the meal is well made and goes down easily enough, and it’s worth it for how pleased Juno looks at the sight of his clear plate. If he really is dying…well, Juno needn’t know.

It’s a lazy day, one of the Captain-mandated lazy days that happen after every heist so that the family can all relax and unwind. Vespa is spending it reorganizing the med bay, Buddy is double-checking all their inventory, Jet is deep cleaning the Ruby, and Rita is hacking into a nearby moon’s student debt database and deleting all its data.

“Feels like we’re the only ones _actually_ relaxing,” Juno grumbles. “After all the times Buddy has scolded me for not being able to turn off…”

They’re on the couch in the stream room, watching _Bad Cops 3_ \- or rather, Juno is watching _Bad Cops 3_ , and Nureyev has his head on his lap is and watching Juno.

“Can’t be a very flattering angle from down there,” Juno comments once he notices Nureyev’s gaze.

“There isn’t an angle in existence that could lessen your beauty, my love,” Nureyev says, and is surprised when the last word turns into a yawn. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was. He settles onto Juno’s soft thighs, sighing contentedly.

“Someone’s comfortable.”

“You make a wonderful pillow, dear detective.”

“Thanks, I’ll add it to my list of marketable skills.”

Juno puts a hand in his hair and runs his fingers through it. The touch is so gentle that Nureyev could cry, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so safe.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, either, but he must, because the next thing he knows the lights in the stream room have been dimmed and Juno is halfway through a conversation that he definitely didn’t hear the beginning of.

“No, I’m not getting it for you, Vespa,” Juno is saying, his voice quiet but hard.

“Why not, Steel?!” returns Vespa’s growl. “I’m spending my day off making sure our medical supplies are in the right place and in good condition-”

“No one asked you to do that! You decided to yourself!”

“-Meanwhile you’re just lying around on the couch watching the worst movie in the entire Bad Cops series, but you still refuse to even lend a hand.”

“I can’t, all right? I’m…occupied.”

_“Occupied-”_

“Lower your voice,” Juno hisses. “You’ll wake him up.”

“Steel, your shitty boyfriend’s beauty rest is not a good enough excuse to-”

“It’s not fucking beauty rest. I…I don’t even remember the last time I saw Ransom sleep. He was up the entire night before the heist, going over the plans. He’s operating on _nothing_ right now. He needs this.”

Nureyev’s eyes are still closed, but he can hear Vespa groan and leave the room, so apparently Juno’s reasoning got through to her. He feels a pang in his chest. He hadn’t realized how concerned Juno was about his sleeping habits. Part of him wants to reach out, to reassure him, _Don’t worry. I’m used to running on empty. I’m okay._ Another part wants to continue feigning sleep so he has an excuse to keep his head on Juno’s lap, and hopefully feel his fingers in his hair again.

The latter part of him wins out, and he stays limp. He lies there silently, leeching Juno’s warmth and listening to the hum of the stream, which has definitely been turned down since he fell asleep.

The moment can only last so long, however.

“Babe…?”

Juno always has been a good detective. He must have noticed the change in Nureyev’s breathing and the loss of the snores that usually accompany his sleep. Nureyev reluctantly gives up on the facade and opens his eyes.

“Hey, baby,” Juno says, and his expression is drawn and guilty. “I’m sorry, did Vespa and I wake you up?”

He shakes his head. They probably did, but that doesn’t matter. He hates seeing Juno look so ashamed over something so silly.

“Try to go back to sleep,” Juno says, and his hand returns to Nureyev’s hair, combing it slowly.

Nureyev closes his eyes. It’s usually a lost cause attempting sleep again once he’s awoken, but he’ll try anyway, for Juno’s sake, and because he wants to stay here forever. He knows he can’t, though.

_The moment can only last so long._

Yes, just like all of this can only last so long- his time aboard the Carte Blanche, with this family, and with Juno. Only a few more weeks from now, and he’ll never feel Juno’s fingers in his hair again. He’ll never get another kiss, concerned look, or ‘I love you’, and it’s his fault, _it’s all his fault that he can’t find a way out of this-_

His stomach turns.

He must not have been as good at concealing his grimace as he thought, because Juno says, “Nureyev? Are you okay?”

He opens his eyes and sits up, a familiar feeling rising in his gut. “Mm. I have to…I have to go.”

Ignoring Juno’s worried expression, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom.

He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he actually has something to throw up this up this time. Probably worse. The food that Juno so lovingly made doesn’t taste anywhere near as good coming out as it did going in.

He’s halfway through the losing the contents of his stomach when he hears the bathroom door slide open. He knows who it is immediately, would recognize the click of Juno’s boots and the weight of his steps anywhere, and he curses himself for being in a position that he cannot stop or control. He can feign a smile and he can feign sleep, but there’s no way to feign _not_ vomiting into a toilet when you are in the middle of doing so.

Juno doesn’t ask if he’s okay again- the answer is obvious. Instead the lady kneels beside him on the cold tile and places a hand on his back, rubbing circles on his spine as he wretches and saying, “It’s all right. You’re gonna be all right, just get it out. Sh, shh. Get it out.”

Eventually there is nothing left to ‘get out’ and Nureyev is just hunched over the bowl, sweaty and trembling and feeling thoroughly disgusting. Now that the immediate problem is out of the way, his brain has time to process what just happened and the state he’s in, in front of _Juno_ , and he finds himself feeling sick in an entirely different way. He doesn’t understand how Juno could even bear to touch him right now.

Yet Juno touches him anyway, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “I’m gonna get you some water and paper towels, all right?”

Nureyev doesn’t have it in him to respond, just nods. He tries to pull himself together while Juno’s gone, but all he manages to do is flush the toilet and slump against the side of the stall.

Juno is back in no time at all, to gently wipe his face and tilt a glass of water into his mouth. It feels so wrong, like he’s a child and Juno is his caretaker. So _embarrassing._

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, when he finds his voice again. “This…that you had to…”

Juno chuckles. “Please. I went to high school in Oldtown. The amount of times I had to hold Mick’s hair back while he vomited or he had to peel me off the bathroom floor after too much drinking…I’m not exactly a stranger to this kind of thing.”

“It’s usually not this bad…”

He instantly knows that he’s said something wrong when Juno’s look of concern deepens. “Usually?” he repeats. “Nureyev, has this been happening a lot?”

“I don’t…this isn’t on purpose, either,” he says quickly. “It _isn’t,_ Juno.”

Juno hesitates, but then nods. “Yeah, I could tell. This is one of the reasons you haven’t been eating, isn’t it? You’ve been nauseous.”

“I’m nauseous whether I eat or not,” Nureyev mutters. “…But yes, that is part of it. Makes it feel…rather like there isn’t any point.”

“Babe, why didn’t you say something? You’re obviously sick.”

“Didn’t…seem that serious.”

“All right,” Juno says, his tone suddenly hard and matter-of-fact.

“…All right?”

“I’m gonna give you ten minutes to clean yourself up as much as you want, and then I’m taking you to see Vespa.”

“Juno-”

“Nureyev, please. I don’t know what’s been up with you recently, but I can’t keep watching you go through this. Just…talk to her. Tell her what’s going on,” he says. “Do it for…for me, if you can’t do it for yourself.”

Nureyev swallows. He wants to say yes, but the word is trapped in his throat.

“And if you can’t do it at all…” Juno sucks in a breath. “Then I will. I’ll tell her everything you’ve told me, and everything I’ve seen.”

Nureyev’s heart twists. _“Juno.”_

“I’m sorry, Nureyev. I know you have a right to privacy, but I also have a right to not stand by and watch the man I love suffer.”

He doesn’t have a choice, he realizes. Such is the core problem with having other people care about you: they might force you to do irritating things like _look after yourself._ A part of him is frustrated that he was sick in front of Juno, but another part of him knows that even if he hadn’t been, Juno would have figured out what was going on and forced him to the infirmary eventually.

He isn’t going to get out of this one.

“Very well,” he says finally. “Let…let me brush my teeth and fix my makeup, and I’ll go.”

Juno’s expression softens into a smile so sweet it almost seems worth it. “Thank you. Want me to walk you there?”

“No, I…think I can manage. I’m sorry about all this, love.”

“Don’t be. I just want you to feel better.”

“You’re too good to me,” Nureyev says, and pulls him into a gentle kiss.

“Yeah, yeah. Best girlfriend ever, I know,” Juno says into his lips, but then he leans back slightly, nose wrinkling. “Now, er, about brushing your teeth…”

Nureyev immediately scrambles away from him. “Apologies, Juno. I…I will do so post-haste.”

Juno laughs. “Thanks.”

Vespa was none too happy about Nureyev walking into her infirmary on her day off, even if she was using the day off to reorganize it anyway, which came as no surprise to him. Still, she wasn’t willing to turn even him away- he suspects she’s well aware that he wouldn’t talk to her without serious cause.

He’d assumed that telling her his symptoms would be the most difficult part, and then he’d assumed that having to sit there while she poked and prodded and ran tests on him would be, but in the end it’s the waiting for the test results to come through and be analyzed afterwards that’s by far the hardest.

He stares at his hands, his heart pounding in his ears. He feels like he’s a man on trial, and Vespa is the juror team deliberating his sentence. Even if it isn’t fatal, perhaps it’s incurable, perhaps it means he will get worse and worse until he can never work again, and then what will be the point of him-

After twenty minutes, Vespa finally clears her throat and looks up from her comms. “Well, your tests came back clean.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Doesn’t surprise me, really. Everything you mentioned- nausea, insomnia, muscle pain, teeth grinding, loss of appetite- are symptoms of _stress,_ Ransom.”

He narrows his eyes. “I come here and tell you everything, only for you to claim it’s all in my head?”

“Seriously?” she growls. “You think _I’m_ the kind of person who’d say something like that?”

The notion _is_ ridiculous, of course, but Nureyev still feels tense and disarmed. “Then what are you saying? Because I’m afraid I don’t-”

“I’m saying the shit that goes on in your brain affects your body, too. You can’t just be anxious every hour of every day without it having negative ramifications for your health.”

“What about the light sensitivity? The…spacing out, and being cold all the time?”

“First two are side effects of sleep deprivation, last one’s a side effect of weight loss- which again, are both symptoms of stress.”

He’s struggling to comprehend any of this. It doesn’t feel right. He’s been anxious before, countless times, and this never happened. It feels like too simple of an explanation. “Then what am I meant to do? Just _be less stressed?”_

“Well, ideally…yes,” she says, then sighs. “Look, these kind of symptoms don’t show up because you’ve got some nerves about the next heist, or whatever. They only get this bad if you’re really fucking stressed for a really fucking long time. I don’t want you to take me saying any of this, or saying that the tests came back negative, as proof that you’re okay and can continue as normal. You’re not okay, Ransom.”

“Lovely.”

“I mean it. Shit like this can lead to heart attacks or worse, which means…something has to give. I can prescribe you sleeping pills and appetite stimulants and antiemetics and all that if you want, but that won’t change the root problem, which is whatever the hell you’re so stressed _about.”_

He shifts nervously in his seat, already beginning to feel ill again. “What do you recommend then, doctor?”

“You know what I usually would give a patient in this situation?”

“By all means, that’s what I’m here to learn.”

“A referral for counseling.”

“Ah.”

“Thing is, for some reason I can’t picture you being okay with that,” Vespa says. “Am I right?”

“It is not…my favorite option in terms of treatment.”

“Figured, considering you can barely even talk openly with any of us.” She lets out a breath. “Look, thief, if you’ve got any intention to live to old age, you’ve got to do something. If Steel’s the only person you can talk to, then talk to him. Just…remember he’s your girlfriend, not your therapist. He’s got his own shit to deal with, too. You shouldn’t keep all of this to yourself, but it isn’t fair to dump all of it on him either.”

“I know that,” he says quietly.

“…You’re not going to talk to anyone, are you?”

“You just told me-”

“Steel isn’t a replacement for a therapist, but I’d rather you talk to him than to no one at all, and with any luck _he_ can convince you to see one. Or to…solve whatever problem is currently fucking you up.” She rubs her temples. “This is about your debt, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You know Buddy knows about it. Did you really think she wouldn’t tell me?”

“…No. No, I suppose not.”

“I’m assuming this is about your debt, because I don’t see anything else happening with you right now could be bad enough to cause your symptoms. Unless there’s something you’re not telling us, of course-”

Nureyev claps his hands on his knees and stands up. “Thank you very much for your assistance, Vespa, and I apologize for wasting your time,” he says. “You said something about sleeping pills and antiemetics?”

“Ransom, you-”

“That’ll do nicely, thank you.”

She gives him the pills without a fight, though her eyes are cold and narrow as she explains their dosages and potential side effects. Before he can escape the infirmary, however, she grabs him by the wrist.

“What we…what this crew is doing here is important, thief. If you screw this up because of whatever’s going on with you that you’re not willing to fix-”

“You’ll slit my throat, I’m sure,” he says breezily. “Thank you for the forewarning, doctor.”

“…God, whatever. Get out of here.”

“With pleasure.”

Juno is waiting for him in his room when he returns, sitting among the debris on his bed and bouncing his knee anxiously. He looks both relieved and expectant when Nureyev slips through the door.

“I got you some apple juice and crackers from the kitchen,” he says, gesturing at them. “When I’ve been in a bad way, I could usually still keep those down.”

Nureyev sits beside him, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Thank you, love.”

Juno nods. “Thanks for…going, too. I know you really didn't want to.”

“Mm.”

“So…what’d she say?”

Nureyev takes a cracker and nibbles at it experimentally. “Tests all came back clean.”

“What?” Juno says. “I mean…I’m glad, but… _what?”_

“It’s all right.” He waves the pills at Juno. “She gave me these, so I’m certain I’ll be feeling better soon.”

Juno takes them and eyes the labels. “I mean…this is good and all, but these just treat the symptoms, not whatever’s causing them. She really had no idea what it could be?”

Nureyev hesitates. Every part of him is screaming at him to lie, but he knows it’s fruitless. After all, if Juno really wants to know, he’ll just ask Vespa- and she has no reason to lie to him. “She suggested that it may be a result of…stress.”

“Stress,” Juno repeats.

“A misdiagnosis, I’m certain, but-”

“No, now that you say it…it does make sense.” Juno scratches his stubble. “I remember in the week leading up to my…wedding, before that all went to shit, I was nauseous a lot and barely got any sleep.”

Nureyev’s heart aches. He knows Juno’s past engagement is still a sore subject for him, even after so many years. “That must have been a difficult time.”

“One of the hardest in my entire life, yeah. Guess in retrospect I should have realized it was a bad sign, to be so stressed out by the idea of your own goddamn wedding that you’re up all night by the toilet. It’s not supposed to feel like walking the plank; it’s supposed to be…exciting.”

“It isn’t fair that you experienced that.”

“Yeah, well, you live and you learn.”

“Still, you deserved better, from her and from-”

“Nureyev.”

“…Love?”

“Stop it. This is about you right now.” Juno scrubs a hand over his face. “God, baby, that engagement felt like heading straight into a death trap, and even my symptoms weren’t as bad as yours have been. What the hell are you so worried about?”

“We don’t know that it isn’t a misdiagnosis.”

“Do you really think it is one, though?”

“I…” Nureyev clicks his tongue. A part of him really wants to believe it is, and struggles to accept that all this could just be a result of him being _anxious._ The rest of him, though… “I don’t know. Vespa seemed rather certain.”

“Well, she’s usually right, you gotta admit.” Juno leans his head against Nureyev’s and puts a reassuring hand on his knee. “Nureyev…are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Must something be going on?”

“You know I don’t like going detective on you, but I will if I have to. Please, just talk to me.”

Nureyev is quiet for a long time, then says, “What if I…can’t tell you?”

“Nureyev…”

He feels tears prick his eyes and blinks them away. “If I can’t tell you, will you leave me?”

He can’t bring himself to look at Juno, too frightened of the expression the lady might be wearing if he does. He’ll be upset, surely- frustrated and angry that Nureyev can’t do something as simple as talk. How many of his failures must this beautiful man be made aware of? Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t have sex without spacing out in the middle of it, can’t handle stress, can’t even _talk-_

And then Juno’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s being steered, forced to look into that warm brown eye.

“Of course I won’t leave you,” Juno says softly.

“I’m sorry,” Nureyev says, and he hates the way it comes out sounding like a whimper. “You can’t…you didn’t…I know this isn’t who you wanted, but now you’re stuck with me.”

Juno furrows his brow. “What?”

“Rex Glass wouldn’t be like this, wouldn’t be such a…mess. He wouldn’t be stressed. He’d…he’d be able to talk to you, and he wouldn’t be _crying_ right now-”

“Maybe not, but I’m not in love with Rex Glass.”

“You met him first. He was who you wanted-”

“Baby, I wanted to fuck Rex Glass,” Juno says lightly. “I fell in love with _you_. Not Glass, not Rose. Peter Nureyev.”

“But… _why?”_ Nureyev asks desperately. It doesn’t make any sense. Everyone who’s ever loved him since…since Mag, has only ever loved the mask. To some extent, he’s always been certain that Juno was the same. He may know Nureyev’s true name now, but he still met the mask first. Nureyev has still tried his hardest to hide all his copious weaknesses and flaws around him.

“I could ask you the same question,” Juno says. “Why do you love a depressed mess like me?”

“You are not a _mess-”_

“Yeah, I am. And…maybe you are too. That’s okay, though. You still love me, and I still love you.”

“Even if I can’t talk to you about…this?”

Juno sighs and flops back onto the bed. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Nureyev. Everything that’s going on with you really scares me. I want to help you, and it feels like I can’t. It feels like…”

“You’re on the other side of a locked door?” Nureyev says wryly, then immediately regrets it.

Juno cringes, but says, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I…I am sorry. Obviously I know how unpleasant that feels.”

“Just…is there _anything_ I can do? Anything that makes you feel…better, or calmer?”

He’s tempted to say no, not wanting to be a nuisance to Juno with his pathetic desires, but he gets the distinct feeling that would just make Juno feel worse. “I don’t know. I…like it when you read to me.”

“Okay,” Juno says, nodding like he’s taking mental notes.

“I like watching streams, too, but just a stream alone usually isn’t enough to…distract me from my own head. When I’m watching one with you, though, and you touch my knee or hold my hand, the combination helps…ground me, I suppose.”

“All right. Good. More of that, then.”

They spend the next hour going through everything that has ever made Nureyev feel even a little better when he’s anxious. It’s exhausting, and they both know that they’re just plugging leaks on a sinking ship with Band-Aids. It might help for a brief moment, but the ship is still going to go down.

All the same…knowing that he has Juno with him, even if the lady can’t be allowed to know the heart of the matter…it’s nice.

Of course, he also knows this isn’t fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone, to expect them to support a loved one who refuses to even tell them what’s going on. Juno is, as always, too kind. Too obliging to the mess of symptoms and neuroses stuffed into a fancy suit that is Peter Nureyev.

With the help of the meds, Juno’s careful cooking choices, a long hot shower and one of his favorite streams, he’s able to keep down his entire meal at dinner and then curl up in Juno’s bed feeling thoroughly ready to fall asleep.

Juno is slumped back in his pillows, running his hands through Nureyev’s hair and playing classical Earth music softly through his comms- both things that Nureyev mentioned as being calming for him. It feels like…a lot. It feels like so much more than he deserves.

And yet Juno breathes into his scalp, “I wish I could do more.”

“You’ve done enough,” Nureyev says sleepily. “More than enough.”

“Doesn’t feel like I have.”

“You can’t blame yourself for my being anxious, love.”

“I…I know. And I don’t. I just…love you.”

“Mm. That’s all I need.”

“No it’s not. Me loving you doesn’t fix anything.”

Nureyev sighs. He’s right, of course. But… “It certainly doesn’t hurt, either.”

“…Guess not.”

He can’t help but wonder how long this is going to last. How long is Juno going to still be able to love and support him despite not being privy to all of Nureyev’s secrets? How long would Juno stick around if he ever was made privy to them? Maybe it’d be better, after all, to rip the bandage off now. No point in being a burden to him like this when he’ll only regret trying so hard to help him in the future, once he knows-

Juno’s hand has stilled in his hair. “Nureyev, you’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling suddenly ashamed. Juno is doing all of this to make him feel better, and he’s still a nervous wreck. He’d intended to at least hide it better, to make Juno _think_ the music and the touch and the kind words were helping even if they didn’t, but apparently he’s incapable of even that much. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” Juno says wearily. “I understand that you can’t tell me everything, but can you at least…not lie to me?”

Nureyev swallows. Even that feels like asking too much, but he forces himself to nod.

“Anything I can do?”

“I…I don’t know,” Nureyev says, and then chuckles dryly. “God, look at me. You told me…part of the reason you left that night was because you were scared you’d end up a burden on me. That you were…too sad, too fucked up. You were worried about the wrong one of us.”

“No I wasn’t,” Juno says, starting up his hand in Nureyev’s hair again. “I _would’ve_ been bad, if we’d left together back then. But…I was still wrong to be worried. I know that now. If we’d talked, I know you’d have been willing to make compromises. I know you wouldn’t have left me just because I felt bad a lot of the time, and I…I’m not going to leave _you_ just because you feel bad a lot of the time, Nureyev.”

Nureyev wants to argue, but Juno has turned the conversation on its head so easily: now if he insists that Juno shouldn’t stick around, shouldn’t look after him, he’ll feel like he’s saying that Juno didn’t deserve to be looked after when he was doing badly either. He’s not going to do that.

Instead, he just settles himself closer to Juno. No more thinking about the future, he decides. If he can’t fool himself into thinking it’ll be a good one, he can at least pretend for a while that it doesn’t exist at all.

He opens his mouth to apologize again, but then closes it. He tries for a different phrase. “Thank you, Juno. For…caring about me, and trying to help even when I’m making it so difficult for you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, I believe I ought to. I know that I’ve upset and scared you quite a few times over the past weeks, and I…know that if the tables were turned, I would be…Well. Quite distraught, on your behalf.”

“Yeah, turns out it’s not really fun, watching someone you love struggle,” Juno says. “Kinda feel like I ought to write out a condolences card to everyone who’s ever loved me.”

Nureyev surprises himself by letting out a laugh. “Glad I could give you some perspective.”

“It’s weird being the less depressing one in a relationship, I gotta say.”

“I am not _depressing.”_

“Whatever you say, babe,” Juno says, but they’re both smiling now. Juno adjusts himself so he can press his forehead against Nureyev’s. “Look…if nothing else, just know I’m here, all right? If you ever change your mind about talking, or about anything…I’m here.”

“I know, love.”

He buries his head in Juno’s neck as the music continues to play softly. The combination of the pleasant sound, the smell of Juno’s lotion and the feeling of Juno’s hands on his back is enough to quiet his mind, if only for a moment.

He feels himself beginning to drift off into the haze of sleep, and the last thing he remembers is the touch of lips against his head and a whispered, _“I love you.”_

For the first time in months, he sleeps all the way through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! I promise I'll be nicer to Nureyev in my next fic. Probably. Maybe. Listen, I only do these things bc he's my favorite character and I love exploring his psyche.
> 
> Anyway, I'm on twitter at @prydonn and tumblr @prydon, feel free to follow me there!!! c:


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